


Of Pixies and Powerplays

by Rattlesnake_Smile



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Takes Place During the Battle of Gettysburg, so... yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 13:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rattlesnake_Smile/pseuds/Rattlesnake_Smile
Summary: "I mean, it was amazing reading about how you used the Rhinemann at Gettysburg to help win the war for the Union."





	Of Pixies and Powerplays

**Author's Note:**

> Just something to help me pass the time while we toll away for nine months waiting for the greatest show on television to return. As much as I love the main group, I'm really invested in the world itself and some of the things that are hinted at or mentioned out of hand. Bigby was one of those things.

The young private cowered behind the bullet-ridden bulk of a dead horse, his once pristine uniform smeared with blood and dirt and other unmentionable things. All around him the ground was littered with bodies, and he could no longer tell who was in blue and who was in gray. Everything was blurring together, and the shroud of gunsmoke that hung over the battlefield didn't help matters at all. His ears rang with canon-fire and gunshots, as well as the groans and screams of the dying, all of it melding together to become one long whine that he just couldn't stop hearing.

  
He covered his ears and clenched shut his eyes, trying to drown out the battle and it's many casualties, but to no avail. This was not what he signed up for. He signed up for patriotism, to fight for his country and it's unity, not to watch men like him, boys really, die gruesome deaths.

  
This must be what going mad feels like, he thought to himself, because no matter how hard he tried or how loudly he hummed, he couldn't not hear the agony of those around him.

  
He was jolted out of his pathetic attempt at a quiet place by a rough shove to his shoulder. He cracked open an eye and saw one of his superior officers, blood smeared on half of his face, matting his hair, mustache and beard. The private noted that the eye that looked out from that half mask of blood looked extra blue. The lieutenant was shouting something, but all the private could hear was that continuous whine in his ears, a mix of the screams of his dying brothers and the ringing one gets when standing too close to a canon going off. The lieutenant looked up, seeing something beyond the horse that had him panicked, because he immediately reached for the saber at his side, for all the good it would do him. The blade was never even fully drawn as the bullet took him in the eye, blood and thicker things exploding out of the back of his skull.

  
The private didn't even hear his own scream.

  
The lieutenant's body crashed to the ground, that one eye, bright and blue, staring at him while the other was a gaping, bloody hole. If he survived the day, that sight would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  
He didn't know how long he huddled behind the horse, staring at the mutilated face of a man he'd only met a few days ago, whose face had become familiar on their march, but he was eventually shaken from his reverie by an approaching light. Not the sun, whose light made the battleground hazy through the smoke that hovered over the field like an unnatural fog, but something else. As if the moon had descended from the sky to join this madness, her glow piercing the smokescreen.

  
The light drew closer and closer and the private started to see a figure through the smoke. Once close enough, the private saw that it was a woman... who was glowing. Honest-to-God, glowing! Under any other circumstances he would have tried to get her to safety or something; a battlefield being no place for a woman. Especially a woman wearing what she was. Or wasn't, in this case. So immodest, in a gauzy, flowing white dress that left her arms bare and showed off a lot of cleavage. Even the camp prostitutes weren't dressed so scandalously.

  
The woman's skirt fluttered in the breeze, enough for the private to see that she was barefoot. If she were at all concerned with the things her feet were soiled with, she didn't show it. In fact, she was beaming, and not just the aforementioned glow, but genuinely smiling like she was having a great time. She was like some goddess come down to smile benevolently upon her subjects, or an angel completely untouched and undisturbed by the carnage she waded through.

  
This woman, this ethereal creature, spotted him and moved closer. He was rooted to the spot, whether by fear or awe, he didn't know. She stopped before him and still he couldn't move, unsure of what was going on, or even what to do. Her lips moved but all he heard was that infernal ringing, the echoing screams of his comrades and enemies. Her smile never faltered as she bent at the waist, her free-flowing brown hair falling forward to tickle his face while her hands reached out and cupped his ears. Her lips moved and still he couldn't hear the words she spoke, but he sure as hell _felt_ it.

  
She was still smiling when she removed her hands. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer plagued by that deafening roar.

  
"Can you hear me now?" She asked, her voice musical and painted with the velvet brush of an accent. European? He nodded, dumbfounded by this woman. "Excellent!" She beamed. "How about when I finish up hear, we get you cleaned up and I'll give you a proper reason to scream?" And then she winked. Winked! This was the most forward woman - hell, person! - he'd ever met, but he found himself nodding again. If anything, her smile grew larger.

  
"Perfect!" She exclaimed. "Now stay here and try not to get shot. I would hate for anything to happen to this pretty face before I had a chance to give you a night you'll never forget." And with barely more than a swish of her flimsy skirt, she was off, stepping over the dead horse's limbs and moving _toward_ the battle.

This woman was crazy!

  
He would have stopped her, but he couldn't speak. What he could do was peer over the horse's carcass, watching her move toward the conflict. With considerable effort, he managed to wrench his eyes off of her and look past her to see a line of Confederates lining up, their rifles being prepared to fire directly at her. Still, he could do or say nothing, only watch. Would that be his purpose in life? To be a witness to this circle of Hell? He received no answer from any higher power and watched as the commanding officer raised his saber, preparing to give the order to fire. For her part, the woman did some sort of simple, yet graceful gesture with her hands and fingers, her motions unhurried. A latticework of glittering blue lights light the air before her just as the order to fire was given. In unison the soldiers fired, but not a single bullet struck this angel.  
She stood there, unafraid, unmoved and definitely unimpressed.

  
The woman stepped forward and the private saw the air ripple around her, as if whatever had been there mere seconds ago dissolved into the air. Her hands were moving again, the gestures a bit more complicated and intricate, a small ember of red light flashing at the end of each finger and leaving streaks in the air. She finished whatever it was she was doing with one final, harsh movement and the soldiers facing her all dropped like sacks of flour. Even at this distance, the private heard the sickening _crack_ of all their necks breaking in sync.

  
What the hell?!

  
He watched with wide eyes as more Confederate soldiers appears through the smoke, no doubt drawn by either the gunfire or the echoing crack. These soldiers were different, though. The moment they saw the woman and the way her hands moved, they cast aside their sabers and rifles and began doing their own finger movements, similar to hers. The first soldier shot off something, some barely perceptible projectile that flew through the air like a missile. The woman stepped forward and connected with this attack with a casualness that was impressive, backhanding it off to the side like she were swatting away a fly.

  
The soldier growled and fired off another one, along with his comrades, who all did the same thing. The woman, this goddess moved quickly, her hands flashing through the air and knocking them all aside. Where ever they landed the ground exploded as if by small canon fire, one of them even shooting off to the side and striking a tree. That tree's trunk exploded in a shower of wood and leaves, and the whole thing, a behemoth oak, started to topple to the side, crashing to the ground with enough force to make the ground shake.

  
Another of the soldiers shot off what could only be called a fireball. The woman twirled around in a balletic motion, her skirt flaring, and simply plucked the fireball out of the air. She continued her spin and sent it back toward her opponents. It struck one of the soldiers, who immediately went up in flames. His screams, wild and inhuman, echoed across an already scream-filled battlefield while he thrashed around. After a moment or two, he collapsed to the ground, a charred, unmoving husk.

  
The woman actually laughed, a high, tinkling sound like wind chimes.

  
The other soldiers roared in outrage and throw more attacks her way, but her glow only seemed to get brighter as she dealt with each one as if they were a mere nuisance. One by one, she quickly and easily displaced their attacks, and with a quick, harsh wave of her hand, she just as easily dispatched them. Once they were all down, the private saw officers, the very people in charge of this battle, all five of them, working in concert to create something big. The soldiers that went in first were just the distraction, keeping her occupied so that they could cook up whatever they were working on.

  
The private watched this amazing woman quickly assess the situation and immediately spring into action. Her hands moved in a flurry of motion, much more complicated than any of her earlier endeavors. Things began to appear in the air before her moving hands, glowing symbols and circles like some complicated clockwork comprised of pure sunlight. Faster and faster she moved, winding up that cosmic clockwork before finally launching it toward her opponents. He watched as they obviously grasped the severity of the situation and immediately dropped what they were working on. Four of them did more of those hand motions, the air in front of them shimmering and distorting as they threw up what the private could only assume were some kind of defense.

  
The fifth one actually turned and ran.

  
None of their efforts were any good.

  
The blast took them all within seconds, a massive thing that made canon fire look like a child's pop-gun. Whatever it was she through at them tore through their flimsy shields like water through paper, and reduced all of them to almost nothing. Their blood blew like sleet across the battlefield. The one who tried to run for it was the most intact and he was still bloodied and smoking, his body broken and unmoving.

  
The woman observed the battlefield, blissfully quiet for the first time in hours, before she turned back toward the private and actually skipped through the bodies that littered the ground between them.

  
For his part he finally stood, his mouth hanging open, as he was utterly gobsmacked. He finally found his voice just as she reached him.

  
"Teach me!"

  
Her laugh was high and clear as she took his hand, starting to pull him away from the carnage.

  
"Oh, love, I'm going to teach you all sorts of things."

  
"Who are you?" The private asked, the realization that he had absolutely no idea who she was finally smacking him upside the head. The smile he got in response (this woman never seemed to stop smiling) melted his anxiety and reassured him.

  
"You can call me Bigby."

**Author's Note:**

> Please review. It's not that hard.


End file.
